


Lost Lullabies of the Sky

by RosettaStarlight



Series: Lunar Lullabies [3]
Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst without a happy ending, F/M, Gen, Multi, Part of Lunar Lullabies AU, Pre-Canon, callum is half sky elf, half-elf callum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:14:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21696760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosettaStarlight/pseuds/RosettaStarlight
Summary: For some reason, he pocketed the letter. Maybe he could ask Viren if he was able to make sense of it. Find the owner, maybe, wherever he was. Who knows? Maybe he was still alive.And even if he wasn’t, the least he could do was preserve it for his son. Since Sarai's passing, he had begun withdrawing into himself again. And Harrow wanted Callum to have this small piece with him so he will remember. His mother loved him with all her heart. And, whoever or wherever he was, Harrow wanted his son to know his birth father loved Callum just as much.---Callum never knew his father. But only for reasons out of both his parents' hands. No matter what anyone said, few knew the sacrifices made for him to keep him safe.
Relationships: Callum & Ezran & King Harrow (The Dragon Prince), Harrow/Sarai (The Dragon Prince), Sarai (The Dragon Prince)/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Lunar Lullabies [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1379869
Comments: 11
Kudos: 157
Collections: Half-Elf Callum Club





	1. Prologue: The Letter

It was a month after Sarai died that Harrow found the letter.

It had been by accident. He had been going through his late wife’s clothes, her books, his heart aching as his mind flooded with memories of her. Her smiles, her laughter, her strength and power that enabled her to sacrifice herself for Viren and for Katolis. His heart was filled with so much grief, he thought it might shatter from the pressure and weight of it. 

Ezran would never know of the mother that had died for their kingdom. He was too young to retain any clear memories of her if at all. Callum had lost his birth father and now had lost Sarai as well. 

And it was his fault. She hadn’t wanted to go, she had tried to talk him out of it. And he hadn’t listened; maybe if he had, she would still be alive. The Queens of Duren would still be alive.

Instead, they gave their lives to ensure a future for both their kingdoms.

Sarai had warned him dark magic had its price. This, he supposed, was his payment. Though the kingdom may now thrive and prosper, the king’s queen was lost to the grasps of death.

He had been looking through her books on the shelves, her favorites, the ones he would catch her reading even if for the hundredth time when she already knew how it ended, when a piece of paper tumbled out of the pages of one. Slowly, Harrow bent to pick it up. Surely, Sarai hadn’t already suspected her death when she had left. 

Yet when he unfolded it, he found not her handwriting, but that of an unfamiliar one. The parchment was yellowed with age and parts were missing. Dark spots on the paper might have been tears, though whether they were of the author or the reader was uncertain. The paper was creased from being folded and refolded time and time again, and he could see fingerprints at the edges blacken it with soot. If Sarai kept it so close all these years, it must have been important to her. Eyes glancing toward the end, the signature at the bottom told Harrow who it was from. 

_ Edan _

Harrow had never met Callum’s father. Callum himself had never met his own father. Before Harrow first began to court Sarai, he had thought that her having a son meant there was also a husband in the equation, until Amaya had taken him aside after catching his eyes linger on her one too many times to tell him she was, “unattached.” At first, Harrow had thought, considering her position and rank in the army, that meant he had died. 

Sarai’s face whenever she mentioned him didn’t do anything to dispel the theory. Until Harrow had gained the courage to ask.

He wasn’t dead, she had said, placing her hand over his and squeezing gently, but he was out of the picture due to circumstances out of both of their hands. But that was in the past, she always told him. She may have loved Callum’s father then, and part of her always would, but her heart belonged to Harrow now.

At the memory, Harrow’s hand involuntarily tightened over the letter. She was gone now. Because of him. 

But pieces of her continued to live on. Callum. Ezran. Harrow needed to be there for both of them now. 

Still….

Harrow now felt the desire to meet the man who from Sarai’s tales of him might have stayed if he could. To tell him he would never have to worry about Callum being treated wrongly because the boy was his son now, too. To tell him that he could already tell his son was going to grow up to be a great man. To tell him the woman they had both loved was now gone from this earth. To hear his memories of her from him just to know the man Sarai felt was worthy of her heart then. To know who Sarai had been, then, in her youth, before she came into his life. Now that he thought about it, Sarai had never gone into much detail about her life before she came into Harrow’s or before Callum came into hers. Except for the rare occasions such as the night Ezran was born or the night she had let slip that if something did happen to her, she wished she could tell Callum who his father was, but she felt it was too dangerous.

Even to Harrow, she had only given small hints. 

Still, part of her had kept this. What might have been the last thing he ever wrote to her if the way it cut off so abruptly was any hint. Even after all these years.

Harrow’s eyes grazed over the slanted handwriting, rushed and urgent.

_ Wish...see you again…last time... don’t know how long until they come. I wouldn’t trade away our moments for anything, though, as I remember your smile. As long as you’re safe, I am happy, and as long as he is alive, I have hope. You have been one of the few lights in this life; even if I’m forbidden to be among the clouds again, even if I shall be shut away from the sunlight, all I need is to imagine your faces, and that is all the light I need in the darkness. All I need is to remember your eyes and how they burned as blue as the sky I once roamed, and I will be fine.  _

_ You hold my heart, and as long as yours beat, so shall mine. I pray our son lives long and I swear to you, my love, they may take all they want from me, but I will never tell. Callum has my eyes, but when I look at him, I also see you, and I can tell he’ll be fine even if he never knows my name. I swear, though, my brother…. H...rn…. lucky he… wing… child. I ...soon… die than betray...y...o. _

The letter faded away, but it picked up again a few lines down the parchment.

_ E… don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Knowing he’ll be safe wherever you are, how could I not? Callum, our little dove. I may not be Startouch, but he will be the One to bring peace to all the lands. I just know it. _

The small dark marks of tears surrounded the edge of that last sentence.

_ Maybe they’ll punish me for my decision, maybe you’ll hate me for my decision to stay. But there will be peace one day, and they’ll see they were wrong. I just know. Give this to Callum when he’s old enough. Tell him  _

It cut off, the sudden trailing of the ink telling Harrow something must have interrupted, something that frightened the author. There was only a bit left after. Despite knowing the man was likely long-gone now, Harrow couldn’t help the sympathy welling in his heart.

_ Runaan... told. I must hurry. Moonshadow…. coming for me. You might never see me again, and for that, I’m so, so sorry. I pray you will read this will reach you, my dear Sarai. And whoever may have your heart next, I hope they take care of you both, whether you need it or not. Stay alive. I love y _

Despite himself, the king shivered. And he wondered how his wife felt with these the last words she ever heard from him. 

For some reason, he pocketed the letter. Maybe he could ask Viren if he was able to make sense of it. Find the owner, maybe, wherever he was. Who knows? Maybe he was still alive.

And even if he wasn’t, the least he could do was preserve it for his son. Since Sarai's passing, he had begun withdrawing into himself again. And Harrow wanted Callum to have this small piece with him so he will remember. His mother loved him with all her heart. And, whoever or wherever he was, Harrow wanted his son to know his birth father loved Callum just as much.


	2. A Bird and A Lost Captain

Growing up, Sarai had been taught that elves were vile, bloodthirsty creatures that would just as soon kill her given the chance. The Breach was her home, where she had lived with her family who were strict in their way of life. Elves, she had been taught, were cruel and cold, and that it was best to stay as far away as possible for her own safety. For all those years as she rose through the ranks of the military and her reputation as a warrior grew, she kept those warnings close to her heart.

Only to have it all proven wrong in a matter of days.

How did it start?

Well, it started when she woke up in the middle of elven territory. Everything ached and sang with pain like a thousand tiny arrows stuck into her body. Memories of what happened before she fell unconscious were foggy and were in fragments as the world materialized before her. 

She could remember her camp being ambushed by elves. She could remember pieces of the battle; all of her fellow soldiers were either dead or running to report her missing. Everything else was a bit fuzzy after that. She remembered screaming, blood, horses neighing in fright, crawling away from battle, desperate to make it out alive back to her sister, knowing she was going to die if she didn’t make it back to the Breach, then darkness as everything went black.

Her head pounded as if she had run into head-first into Amaya’s shield. She tried to move a hand to clutch it, but found she couldn’t and couldn’t help wondering what had happened. She knew she wasn’t dead, but she wasn’t sure the full results of the battle. Was she injured, and if so, how bad? Maybe that was why she couldn’t move. At least that meant she was alive. As long as she still felt pain, she wasn’t dead.

Her eyes felt as if they were weighed down by bricks as she forced them open. Once she regained her sight, she immediately closed her eyes again, the light blinding her and making the pounding in her head worse if possible. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before her eyes adjusted to the light and she was able to make out her surroundings more clearly.

At first, all she could make out was a blurry picture of blueish-gray colored walls around her. Certainly, she was nowhere in the Breach as the walls there were mostly brown and red. So where was she exactly? And with friends or foes?

Though the pain in her back and leg refused to go down even as the pain in the rest of her body began to subside, she attempted to sit up. Only to groan and not make it more than a few inches before being forced to lay back down.

As her vision cleared, however, it became clear she was not in any military base she knew of. Moonlight shone through a closed window to her left, and ivy snaked and curled up the walls. A mere good Samaritan, maybe, who had found her? Even from the position she was in on her side, she could see the place wasn’t a prison of any sort.

And clearly, the owner was not prepared to house guests. Still, whoever had taken her in had enough sense to remove her armor and had even seemed to have left a set of clean clothes, and as she looked down, she saw bandages wrapped around her abdomen. 

Her thoughts came to a halt again when a shot rang through her head, feeling as though it would split open. This time, when her hand came up, instead of one, it was two. With her head feeling as though it were being beat upon with a war hammer and her lungs making it hurt to breathe, it took a moment for the motion to register but when it did, she found her hands were bound.

Slowly, the puzzle of her memory began to place the pieces together, though not possible in the correct places. The ambush, the attack… she tried to rescue one of her comrades before the blade came down on their neck… she tried to run… and then… and then? Questions continued to fill her mind, the pieces becoming jumbled all over again. “Just what happened to me?”

Then a sudden shred of memory came back, an image that came and went of a panic-stricken face looking down at her from a high vantage point that sprang to mind. A feeling of weightlessness as she tumbled through the air. “I...fell?” she mumbled, but how? It didn’t fit in to the other shards of memories piercing her mind. “Did someone try to catch me?” They likely did, considering she was still alive, but…. Another memory came back when she groaned loudly as her head felt like it’d explode the more she grasped for the escaping images.

Hands grabbing at her hair as she tried to run and escape. Sarai paused and gently, her fingers traced the side of her head above her right temple. Where her hair once was, a large bloody scab cut into her hair like a blotched circle. An elf who had lunged at her missed and when she had run, he grabbed onto her hair instead. And in her desperation to get away, she left him with a handful of her hair in his fist.

Trying to take her mind off the pain, she glued together the broken shards of her memory and created scenes up until she remembered what had happened before the darkness had set in. There were still gaps, but less and smaller than before. Someone had found her bloody and injured, and she could remember their voice offering help, yet...for some reason, she had tried to leave and the ground gave way and she fell.

She wasn’t dead, however, so it couldn’t have been that hard a fall. Another image of a hand reaching for her before she blacked out. So, someone had obviously caught her.

Never once had Sarai feared for her life, but at this moment, she was afraid for knowing that for a few moments, no matter how brief, it had almost come to an end. Reliving what had come close to being the final moments of her life was the single, most frightening experience she ever endured.

All that was left to answer was, where was she now? How was her family? What about the remaining of her team? How many were still alive? Whoever her savior was, how did they get her here? What would happen to her next?

Bringing her hands away from her head as the pounding dulled, she noted her hands were bound with a thick length of rope. But not tight enough to cut off blood flow, and loose enough that if she were focused enough, she could free herself. It was done well enough, though, that it was clear the person had known what they were doing, and it was intentional. They didn’t want her a prisoner, but perhaps were afraid she’d lash out when she awoke.

Why else would someone tie her up so she could slip free if she were to try? And why bound with her hands in front of her no less and not behind like a sensible person would?

Her answer soon came as footsteps began to approach from the other side of the door. Sarai prided herself on her strength and her independence above all else and would never willingly let others view her as weak, but if this person was her savior, she also would not complain, and knew when gratitude was due. 

The sound grew closer and closer, and Sarai immediately took on a sleeping position, feigning unconsciousness, hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever had helped her. And if necessary, catch them off guard should they try something.

She waited as the sound grew closer and the door opened. The footsteps came to a pause with only one or two more steps before stopping.

Sarai looked as best she could through half closed eyes like some child watching their parents as they pretended to be asleep. It was hard at first as all she could see was her arms and her own hair that had fallen in the way of her face. Then the steps moved to the right of her. All the while Sarai hoped they would move into her line of sight to better gauge who, or what, it was.

Still she waited as the person stepped closer. Then, a movement that was not her own came into view as they stood over her left side. All she could make out, however, from her position was a pair of legs, her eyes too far closed to make out the full picture.

Opening her eyes just a bit wider to see better though her lashes who was trying to examine her and prepared to move at a moment’s notice to protect herself. Then the person before her bent down, reaching out to brush her hair out of her face with four fingers. A hood shadowed his face, hiding most of his features, and a deep blue cloak was thrown over his body, but she could make out what appeared to be tattoos along a handsome face. 

The man tilted his head and stared at her with curious bright green eyes as if she were a creature never before seen up close.. 

Sarai’s eyes widened at the image that flashed to replace one of the blank spaces in her mind with the sight of those eyes before she fell.

Startled, he scrambled back, stumbling into a table as he bowed his head and pulled his hood lower over his face, avoiding her eyes. Sarai's surprise was so great, she almost missed his soft voice as he spoke. "Tha thu nad dhùisg. Bha dragh orm nach dèanadh tu," he said, voice anxious while he tried to keep his face hidden more than it already was. 

Sarai might as well have been a child listening to the teacher in school again as she stared at him, speechless at the sound of him speaking in a language unknown to her ears. The words were nothing Sarai had heard before. Perhaps he was from one of the other five kingdoms as they all had their own unusual languages. 

The man noticed her confusion, and he gestured to himself. "Is e m ’ainm Edan." Then to her, speaking slow and cautious as if dealing with a wild animal. "Dè an t-ainm a th 'ort?" 

But all Sarai did in response was stare, unable to understand a word of what she was hearing. “A bheil thu ceart gu leòr? Chan eil mi airson eagal a chur ort a-rithist," he said, concern in his tone, his hands extended and raised to show he meant no harm.

Did she attack him before? Was that why he was so nervous? And why her hands were tied?

Pushing up off the bed, Sarai propped herself up before shaking her head, “I'm sorry, but I don't understand you,” she said, feeling the slightest bit guilty that this man may have saved her, and she couldn't even thank him properly. “What are you speaking?" she asked.

His brows furrowed and his nose scrunched up. "Dè tha thu ag ràdh? Chan urrainn dhomh do thuigsinn.” 

But again Sarai shook her head. After a moment, the man seemed to understand the language barrier as realization crossed his features. 

His nose scrunched up again and he lifted one hand to his chin in deep thought. Sarai couldn't blame him for his frustration. It wasn't every day you met someone new you couldn’t interact with. 

And it was doubtful if he  _ spoke _ another language that he didn't also sign in a different language and dialect. So sign language wasn't an option.

After a long moment, he pointed to the center of his chest where she caught a metal emblem engraved into the medallion clasping his cloak together. She couldn't tell what it meant, however. "Edan," he repeated, annunciation each syllable, pointing to himself. 

Once again, Sarai couldn't help feeling like a schoolchild even if she could tell he wasn't trying to condescend; he was simply trying to get the message across. "You're Edan," she stated, gesturing the best she could to him.

Edan's eyes lit up and a smile pulled at the corners of his lips, revealing slightly sharper canines than she was used to seeing. "Fhuair, fhuair thu ceart e, sin m ’ainm!" he grinned, nodding, and pointed to himself again. Then to her. "Agus d ’ainm?"

His smile was so infectious, Sarai couldn't help the one creeping up on her own face. Then she noticed the expectant look on his face as he waited. "Oh!" Raising her hands to her chest in imitation of Edan's actions from before, she calmly stated, tapping her chest, “Sarai, my name is Sarai.” 

Brows furrowing, Edan pointed to her. "Sarai," he repeated, cautious. 

But she simply smiled and nodded. "Yes, my name is Sarai."

She tried to rise into a sitting position only to let out a hiss as agony shot up her leg. Out of instinct, she grabbed onto it. At the very least, it seemed, her leg was broken, and that alone would take a while to heal. A look of panic flashed across Edan's face to replace his smile as he looked around. 

Blinded by the pain, when Sarai opened her eyes again, he was gone.

But not for long.

Slowly but surely, Sarai managed to get her feet in front of her and into a sitting position. From this point, she could better assess the damage. Under her hand, she could feel the dislodged bone in her right shin. It needed binding to brace it, or else it'd heal crooked. 

Then the footsteps returned and the door opened again, Edan reentering, his arms burdened with a basket full of bandages and a few small jars. There was still caution in his movements around her, but some of the tension had eased in his face as he lowered the basket to the ground. “Dìreach leig dhomh cuideachadh. Cuidichidh iad sin thu le bhith a ’faireachdainn nas fheàrr.” Despite still having no idea what he said, she could tell the meaning from the medical supplies.

Sarai stared at him for a moment, and he attempted a small smile, his hands raised palm up to show he meant no harm, then slowly reached down to hold up a roll of bandages before gesturing to her broken leg. 

“Oh, you--you want to bind it?” she asked, gesturing from the roll to her leg. He nodded. Sarai thought for a moment. Part of her wasn’t quite sure if she could  _ trust _ him if he couldn’t even trust  _ her  _ enough to show his face, but she supposed his feelings toward her were mutual if that was the case, and his genuine smile showed he was trying to help. Besides, it wasn’t as if she could leave any time soon until her leg healed.

So seeing no other choice, Sarai began to pull up her pants leg to expose the wound. She winced at the sight. Mottled black and blue, that was thankfully the worst of it, and Edan didn’t flinch or seem disturbed by the wound as he took a small vial out of his pocket and held it out to her. Her eyes narrowing, he mimed lifting up to his lips before holding it out again. “Deoch. Cuidichidh e leis a ’phian,” elaborated Edan. “Leigheas.”

Hesitating, Sarai slowly reached out and took it from his gloved hand. She fumbled with the glass and held it up to her lips. Almost immediately, the pain numbed to a dull throb. The juice was sweet, tangy and sour all at once, lingering pleasantly on her tongue after she swallowed. Seeing her stop as he began to grab a piece of long wood to act as a splint, Edan encouraged her to finish, and he didn’t continue until she had drained it. 

While he worked, Sarai tried to observe him and get a better grasp of who she was dealing with. His hood raised just slightly as he bent over the wound to wrap it, and occasionally at his back, the cloak would rise an inch or so before settling again. Was it the wind? No, the windows were closed. Besides the tattoos and those eyes, and that bright smile, he had made sure to angle himself so she could just barely see his features properly. 

Before long her leg was wrapped, and despite how crude it was, the splint should be able to help her heal properly as long as she kept her weight off it. 

Sarai grabbed his arm as he pulled back, and her suspicions were confirmed that _he_ was scared of  _ her _ when he flinched at her touch. Realizing her mistake, she let go and watched Edan rapidly put the things he used back into the basket and begin to move away, tense once more. “Thank you,” Sarai called out as he turned from her to the door. 

But he stopped when he heard her speak and turned around to face her again, tilting his head, nose scrunched up in what she starting to associate with puzzlement. Sarai then motioned to her still exposed leg before repeating, “Thank you, for helping me. I was trying to thank you.” 

“Dè tha sin? Dè a th ’ann Thank You?” Edan asked, stepping closer. A small laugh escaped Sarai’s lips, guessing there was some type of mistranslation, which only seemed to confuse him even more.

She carefully pulled down her pants leg. “I wasn’t trying to do anything to hurt you. I was just trying to say thank you.”

However, worry flashed in his eyes as his gaze darted from her to the door behind him. “Dè a th ’ann an Thank You? An e an rud a rinn do ghortachadh a-muigh an sin?” He sounded anxious, and slightly frustrated, which all but confirmed Sarai’s earlier suspicions of a mix-up.

Shaking her head, Sarai calmed her voice, then tapped her injured leg before waving to him and repeating once more, “Thank you.”

Blinking owlishly at her, his eyes darted from her and the leg multiple times, trying to make sense of what she was saying. But Sarai was as patience as she was teaching Amaya after she lost her hearing. This was hardly anything in comparison.

Edan tucked the basket under one arm and used his free hand to point to her leg. “Tha thu ag ràdh taing?” he asked slowly, twisting his hands together nervously, and was one finger on each hand a bit...limp?

Yet Sarah just smiled and tapped her leg once more. “Thank you.” She truly was grateful, and she tried her best to show it on her face.

Eventually, his unease lifted and he returned her smile, his grin all teeth and wide enough his green eyes seemed to almost  _ literally _ glow. He ducked his head, but his bashful smile remained as he twisted his gloved fingers. “S e do bheatha.” When he looked back at her, he laced his hands together and mimed lowering his head onto them before reaching for the door behind him. “Feuch an gabh thu fois, bheir mi sùil ort nas fhaide air adhart.”

Watching him leave, Sarai guessed what he meant and tried to lie back down and let her eyes close.

* * *

As Edan stepped out, he took a deep breath and placed the basket on the table. At least she wasn’t trying to hurt him again. Of course, that was because she thought he was one of her kind. He felt guilty for lying, but otherwise, how else would she trust him enough to let him help?

He removed the gloves he found on one of his flights and tucked them away Hopefully, she didn’t notice one of the fingers were empty. Human hands weren’t so different, now that he thought about it. They were just a bit...wider, he supposed.

He just had to be careful. If anyone knew he had a human in his house, Edan would never be able to show his face in Xadia again. And that was if he was lucky.

Lifting his hood and unclasping the cloak from his shoulder, he placed it over a chair and took a bite out of an orange, chewing absentmindedly. He had never really seen a human up close before; many elven slurs for humans tended to be about their coarseness, their baseness, but this woman didn’t seem to fit that description.

Humans looked odd. But then again, he supposed elves looked odd to them as well. 

Self-conscious, he ran a hand over the curve of his horns. He was used to being thought of appearing odd as a Skyshadow, that tended to happen with other mixed-clan elves, but the way she had looked at him when he first appeared before her…. That was a look he hoped never to see directed at him again. 

But he couldn’t just leave her there even if she was pointing her sword at him, threatening to cut him from nose and navel if he took a step closer. There was no else around to help. If he left her, she might have died. And then she almost did.

Now they were both here. And he really had no guarantee she wouldn’t try to hurt him once she found out what he was. Their language barrier didn’t help, either. Maybe he could ask one of his Moonshadow friends or his brother, Agnarr since they were the ones most familiar with human tongues, although according to them, not all humans lived under the same culture.

For now, however, he had to keep up this ridiculous human masquerade. Still, he wasn’t abandoning her.  _ Sarai _ . Agnarr said each name had its meaning. Each name had its importance and power. Considering what he was taught, Sarai was a pretty name for the vile creatures most talked about who were said that if given the chance, they would drain all the magic and life from them without a second thought.

Regardless of whatever circumstances brought them to this moment, Edan was now harboring a human in Xadia. And at the very  _ least _ , if anyone found out, he was good as banished, and she good as  _ dead _ . 

But all that aside, the question remained for Edan to ponder: What was he going to do with Sarai?


	3. To Love is To Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elf. Human. Suddenly, none of it mattered anymore as all that mattered in that moment were the two of them in that house.

Out of everything, if one were to ask, Edan would never hesitate to admit his wings were his favorite and most valuable feature. Rarely were Skywing actually  _ born _ with wings instead of having to manifest them by magic, and being of two primals, no one had been quite sure which he'd form a connection with. In his case, the odds had been stacked against him until, to everyone's shock, he had been born with a pair of small beautiful dark wings curled into his back.

Agnarr needed the spell to fly, but Edan had been born with the feathers he had grown to love, and sometimes he could sense the envy that despite being full-blood Skywing, Edan was the Skyshadow with wings even though everyone thought he would take after his mother. Still, it was Agnarr who had supported him with Edan's mother always on missions and their father gone to teach Sky Primal magic at another city. It was Agnarr who encouraged young Edan to stretch each wing individually, showed him how to fully extend and strengthen them. 

Then again, he was also the one who pushed five-year-old Edan off the roof of their house. 

_ Kids have to learn somehow, _ Agnarr would now say dismissively if the subject got brought up.

Still, one of his fondest memories was Agnarr's beaming smile, clapping proudly as he watched Edan catch himself on unsteady wings flapping furiously back up to him. His brother welcoming him back with one of the few hugs Edan could remember, was another.

By the time Edan was ten, he would make laps around the grove. He flew among the clouds and the bright blue of the sky on strong, sure wings, feet wriggling happily as he soared above the land. As he grew older, he'd fly higher and try riskier tricks in the air. No matter what, his wings always caught him. 

He felt at home in the skies, ducking and diving through the clouds. 

Nothing could beat the absolute freedom and sense of belonging he'd feel each time he took flight. He was the best of his class, but not out a desire to  _ be _ the best as everyone else but simply because he genuinely enjoyed what he did.

Most of his peers had expected and even wanted him to take the role of an assassin or at least spy with his mixed blood and talent. But Edan was anything but a fighter. He was an artist. If not in the air, he would rather sing and dance during festivals in the square than using that same grace and agility to kill, rather be bent over a sketchbook than a body, rather learn how to bring light into people's eyes rather take it away.

Some told him he was wasting his skills and gift, but to be honest, if it made him happy, and if he made others smile, well, it wasn't much of a waste, was it?

Occasionally, his flight might take him over the Border into human territory, because, well, he couldn't really help it. Despite the stories he heard about them, humans were truly quite fascinating. They were born without magic, in a land void of magic, and yet...they continued to thrive in spite of it all. 

It was during one of those flights that he found Sarai. And humans  _ did _ look odd but at the same time, beautiful.

Instead of four fingers, she had five fingers, and Edan couldn't help but wonder what one even did with an extra finger when four worked fine. Unlike the lilac undertone of most Moonshadow had or the grayish tint to Edan's own skin, Sarai was pale, and when her cheeks warm, slightly pink. Instead of stark white like his own, Sarai's hair was dark and when she could, was always bound in a braid or bun despite the obvious wound to her scalp even with the hair slowly beginning to grow back over it.

Some warriors chose to cut their hair as it might get in their way or give their enemies a way to hold them back. She was apparently in the other category. 

Growing up, Edan had been told time and time how inferior humans were to elves, how weak they were compared to them and how their weakness and lack of resolve lead them to dark magic. How their race's laziness and inability made them turn to shortcuts, taking just to prove they could. And how humans should be grateful that the Dragon King didn't wipe them all out just because they thought that would make him no better than them.

But he didn't understand how they could be inferior if they were born with nothing, no power, no primal connection, no magic. And yet they just kept on surviving and, even though he despised dark magic, no one could deny it was hardly a straight shortcut or cheat with the dedication that went into each spell. Xadia had plants and herbs and magic in its very air, and a lot of things came with ease to its inhabitants, but humans had nothing and still managed to build themselves up to be as strong if not stronger than elves. If they weren’t, it was likely Xadia would have stomped their race out a long time ago.

Edan tried not to cast judgement when he couldn't tell who started this whole Divide to begin with. 

Humans may have turned to dark magic.

Only, however, because Xadia had left them to die. Then cast them out when they grabbed onto any footholds they could in order to survive.

To assume elves were completely blameless in the creation of Dark Magic was pure arrogance.

Besides, anyone who survived as long with the strength Sarai held to live through her wounds and work to heal...how could someone like that be inferior?

He couldn't help the way he looked at her like some wondrous creature, but he didn't want her to think him odd so he averted his gaze each time hers met his.

But through each visit to check her progress, he was finding her smile more fascinating than them all. And, each time, he had to remind himself she would hate him once she knew what he was.

* * *

The next few days bled into weeks, Sarai just barely able to tell the time from the sunset and rise from the window. She and Edan did their best to try and talk to each other to pass the time. She begun to pick up a few words, mostly basic stuff and a few phrases but not enough to hold a conversation. Edan, however, was apparently learning some words and phrases, though he refused to say from who. 

Most of their conversations involved them exchanging a few words and sometimes Edan would get overexcited and slip into his native tongue as he rambled about some random subject before eventually realizing he was running his mouth off. 

Still, he seemed to get a lot more out of these conversations than her. His smile never wavered, enjoying every moment as if she was a true marvel. It made her wonder how many people came to visit him. 

It was funny, really. She should be worried, thinking of how to get home when her leg healed, or at least try to find a way to contact the outside to let them know she was alive. But instead she found herself enjoying the time spent with a man she did not know, who still had yet to trust her enough to show his face, and with absolutely no idea where she was. And yet all that seemed secondary at the moment with her new friend making all those problems feel less significant.

Despite the binding on her leg, it would be months before she could walk again. Edan had made her a pair of makeshift crutches to give her a means to get around and would assist her in taking steps, encouraging her to take at least three more than she did the day before for every day she stayed.

Every time he visited to check on her progress, he would look at her with that wide green-eyed gaze, as if she was some sort of hidden wonder of the world or royalty.

As time went on and Sarai tried her best to come to terms with her situation, she couldn’t help but smile at him or laugh when she could tell he was blushing even if she couldn't see his face all too well.

As he encouraged her to take another step, she reminded herself when she stumbled and fell that she was doing this so she could go back home, so she could tell her sister she was fine, that she didn't need to worry because Sarai was not leaving her side again. When she refused his extended arm and pulled herself up, she didn't miss his smile as he backed away.

“Thank you.” she said suddenly feeling a wave of gratitude hitting her like the ocean upon the shore. “Thank you for letting me stay here until I get better," she added graciously. Edan paused, having to take a moment to translate some of her words. 

Sarai smiled as she used her crutches to place her good foot forward before dragging the other, stepping closer to him while careful to keep her leg from moving too much. She repeated the process until she was a few feet away, respecting his space. She could tell part of him was still nervous around her. Balancing on one crutch, she extended a hand. 

Startled, Edan backed out of reach. Huffing slightly, Sarai determinedly kept her face calm, waiting for him to feel comfortable and see there was no harm. Holding her hand out, she beckoned and spread her fingers to show there was no deception.

Hesitant at first, he drew close once more but still kept a distance between them, slowly lifting a gloved hand before placing it in her own. She let him examine her hand, watching him seem fascinated by her fifth finger in particular. Curious herself, she paid attention to his hand in hers and noted the pinky of his glove looked a flat in comparison with the others. 

It wasn't long before he had drawn close enough for her to do what she wanted, reaching her hand up a bit further and grasping the edge of Edan's hood. His eyes widened and he tried to pull back but stopped when Sarai tugged. He looked up, confused and wide-eyed, but then his eyes turned sad and resigned as he stopped fighting. Slowly, she pulled his hood down.

And within the next few seconds, it all became strangely clear, and Sarai wished she could be more surprised at the fact that she was staring at what she now knew was an elf's eyes.

She didn't see him for a week after that. She would wake up and find a basket of food or new bandages to change her wrappings, but he was nowhere to be found. She wanted to be angry, she really did, but he hadn’t turned her in. He wasn’t trying to hold her for ransom. He took off the binding on her hands the second day, and hadn’t put them back on despite the fear of retribution she caught in his eyes before he practically ran out. He had plenty of opportunities to hurt her or trick her, and yet he hadn’t.

If anything, he seemed more scared of her although he was the one with the upper hand to take advantage of the situation. 

It went against almost everything she had been raised to believe, but even if she wanted to find reasons to distrust him, that didn’t change the fact he was helping her heal or the fact he had been making the effort to fix the language barrier of Katolis and what she now knew to be Elvish. Nor the fact that he was now keeping his distance, guessing her uncomfortable with being in the same room as an elf. Edan had been nothing but hospitable and respectful. 

Besides, she had other things to worry about considering that if Edan was an elf, that meant she was somewhere in Xadia, and she had no idea where she was or how she’d get back without his help. She couldn’t really get far with her crutches, and it would still take a long while to heal.

And as much as she wanted to be angry at him, she had to admit she missed the sight of his eyes and his smile.

Then she found a note at the bottom of the basket he left for her in the morning. When she unfolded it, although the words were slanted, unfamiliar with the characters of her language, and there were moments where the ink was either pressed too long or trailed off where he obviously had to look for a translation or had to think first, she had to admire the work he’d clearly put in to communicate. 

_ To the Warrior Sarai, _

_ I’m really sorry about deceiving you. I am. I did not think you would accept my help if you knew. I did not want you to die and I did not want to die if you wanted nothing to do with me. _

_ I hope you are alright. I’m glad that you are alright. I have never had a human in my home before and hope I have not done anything to offend you. You must be an incredible fighter if you survived whoever it was that hurt you.  _

_ Again, I’m sorry about, well, everything that’s happened so far. I’m not exactly making the best impression here, especially for someone like you. It does not really matter, though. Not as much as how brave you have been. I can tell you are strong, in more ways than one. But in a good way. _

_ At least this is a story to tell your friends, right? _

_ Signed, Edan _

Sarai blinked, confused as all else. On the back, a detailed sketch of her face stared back at her. Remarkable. More so was that this was how he saw her, and...she looked beautiful, more beautiful than she likely did in reality. What was he trying to play at?

* * *

Edan came home in the middle of the night, closing the door, only to turn and find Sarai sitting in a chair in front of the fireplace, facing him. A frown marked her features, an unsure mixture to her lips and her arms crossed over her chest. At the sight of her, his wings folded behind his back as if still trying to hide from her, which only made Sarai’s frustration grow.

Holding onto her crutches, she rose into a standing position before lifting up the note he left her. “What is this?” she demanded.

Edan’s face flushed a darker color, and even the tips of his ears seemed tinged a dark grey. “Paper?” It came out sounding more a question than an answer, and she was reminded he wasn’t quite so fluent in speaking her tongue. His mouth moved uncertain around the words, and though he was becoming more accustomed to them, his voice held a strong accent.

Sarai huffed. “You know, it’s really unfair. You can disappear whenever you want, but I try to go look for you, I can’t because I might get lost or killed,” she sighed, trying to keep her face calm so as not to scare him away again.

She placed a small, folded note of her own on the table before limping away back to the room she stayed.

Once she was gone, Edan sighed. Well, that went well. Had he said something wrong? Should he try again? He was kind of out of ideas after this.

He opened the piece of parchment.

Edan blinked at the page that was definitely not blank. A cautious optimism rose in his chest. She had written back.

This time around, he could pick out _ most _ of what she had written. But he still had to run to the library in the middle of the night to translate what he couldn't.

_ To the Not The Worst Elf, _

_ It’s fine. Really. You didn’t do any harm by it and I’m not hurt. I can't say I wouldn't have done the same in your shoes. I was worried at first, but you haven't tried anything yet, why would you now? You seem genuine, and it's odd after what I've heard, but not the worst.  _

_ You haven't offended me, and to be frank, I've never been housed by an elf so we're even. _

_ And thanks. I have been since I was a child. As long as I can remember, I’ve been training to serve my country. So, I have to be strong, for my family, my country, and my sister. My father raised me to be ready for anything… but I suppose he’s wrong in some degrees. _

_ I enjoy your company. Just stop with trying to hide yourself from me and we can see how well this can work. It wouldn’t do well to spend however long I might be here doing this awkward dance around each other.  _

_ Signed, Sarai _

Edan read the letter again. A small smile graced his lips and his cheeks warmed. Maybe they would get along, after all.

* * *

After two months, Sarai was making progress. Her way of telling time was crude, and admittedly a bit inaccurate at least to an extent, but she knew at had least been over two months, her clock being the rise and set of the sun by the window.

Though he was still cautious, Edan had at the very least, become comfortable enough to allow her to examine him in turn like he had her since she had also never seen a Skywing elf up close. Moonshadow and Sunfire, yes, since they were the ones she always had to fight at the Breach, but Skywing were a different story. And she seemed even more fascinated when he corrected her with the term “Skyshadow.”

“A friend of mine who is Startouch and Sunfire likes to call herself Starfire,” he had said nervously, twisting his fingers together. “Most mix-clan elves like to mix the names together since we’re both but not one of either, really.”

“So you’re...Moonshadow and Skywing?” she asked tentatively, wondering if his mixed blood was a sensitive subject.

But he only beamed and nodded. “I’m more connected with Sky.” He extended his wings for emphasis, which on each side almost spanned to the walls from where he stood. Though he was getting better at speaking her language, (she had begun learning Elvish in turn for the times when he slipped into his native tongue) his accent made the words seem to wobble and tremble on his lips, his tongue rolling with every syllable. 

Approaching him slowly, Sarai gently traced the inky black feathers that held an iridescent sheen, soft under her touch. "They're beautiful," she breathed. He blushed from the compliment, the flush spreading to the tips of his pointed ears.

When she finally turned her gaze away from his wings to Edan himself, she saw what she had to admit about all elves. Though he had his own unique qualities, he was much like others of his kind in certain ways. Horned, four-fingered, and inhumanly,  _ devastatingly _ beautiful. 

His pearl white hair was in a low ponytail that reached his shoulders, contrasting greatly with the darkness of the wings that he was now curling into his back. Unlike her own, his skin held a bluish-gray tint and white markings that curled across his nose and around his eyes, reaching down his cheeks to stop at his chin.

Examining him as she moved, she reached out and cupped his face between her hands.

Edan’s eyes widened in surprise and began to pull back but stopped when Sarai began to rub the markings on his cheeks. His nose scrunched up in confusion as if the closeness and attention he was being given was a foreign object. Then he quickly adjusted and placed his hands on hers but not pushing them away, muttering something affectionately in Elvish. Whether she understood the words or not, Sarai could tell he appreciated it.

Edan let out a laugh, unable to contain his amusement. “Tha thu cho neònach, Sarai. A bheil a h-uile duine cho neònach riut?”

His laughter infectious, Sarai couldn’t help the chuckle bubbling in her throat. Her heart still lurched knowing that her chances of ever making it home even with Edan’s help were slim, but the longer she was with him, she found being here with him wasn’t quite so terrible. 

* * *

When he notices she's bored being trapped in the house while she heals, he brings her books during the fourth month. And then a small, blank one for her to use as a journal to document her time better. The ink he brought her was more than enough for the day.

At this point she honestly hoped she escaped if for no other reason than to share her journey with the world to point out that humans and elves were not so different. But the world wasn’t ready for that kind of information yet, unfortunately. Perhaps maybe her bull-headed sister. Even if it was only a few at a time, it could be a start to peace no matter how small or slow.

Sarai placed the journal on the table along with the other things he gave her. Then picked herself up using the wall as a brace and moved herself to one of her crutches, hopping on her good leg and being careful not to fall and hurt herself further. She stopped at the window where she could hear Edan's melodic voice better as he sketched a handful of flowers. The song seemed to be an old Moonshadow lullaby since she had heard the same sung by faint childlike voices. None of the words made sense to her as he sung them in Elvish, but his smooth voice alone was soothing and beautiful.

_ "A ghrian a's a ghealach, stiùir sinn _

_ Gu uair ar cliù 's ar glòir _

_ Naoidhean bhig, ar rìbhinn òg _

_ Mhaighdean uasal bhàn" _

Her heart fluttered a bit the more he sang, enchanting and lulling. Her eyelids began to drop as she was pulled into sleep, his song echoing in her dreams. 

_ "A naoidhean bhig, cluinn mo ghuth _

_ Mise ri d' thaobh, Ó mhaighdean bhàn _

_ Ar rìbhinn òg, fàs a's faic _

_ Do thìr, dìleas fhéin" _

* * *

It’s during her sixth month that Sarai succumbs to fever. 

Her throat felt like flames and her body was chilled and clammy. Her body was slick with sweat and despite the chill, her head ached so badly she would have thought it was on fire.

For the rest of the week, she remained bedridden, curled up in a tight ball. Her days had been spent sleeping, drinking cups of hot tea and refusing what food Edan gave her until, finally frustrated, he practically forced her up as he spooned broth into her mouth. Even if she threw it up later, he insisted she wasn’t going to get better unless she ate something. 

Edan came back day after day, applying a damp towel to her forehead whenever her temperature spiked, giving her medicine to help her rest when the fever kept her up, singing to help take her mind off the aches and chills.

Her hair had become a tangled and knotted mess that she knew would be a nightmare to brush out later, having grown several inches since her arrival. Also, considering how easily Edan had lifted her, she had grown thinner even with the food he was feeding her.

She didn’t know how he stayed such a ray of sunshine...or moonlight, in his case.

As he would sit by her bedside, he would try to make her laugh in between her worst coughing fits, telling her about some of Xadia and its wonders, once intentionally biting into an overripe Xadian orange so it practically exploded on his face, making it covered and dripped with red juice. That one had definitely worked until she started laughing hard enough to end up in another coughing fit.

* * *

She knows she shouldn't have. She knows it was wrong.

But sometime during the seventh month in Xadia, he's showing her a handful of creatures he called Adoraburrs that had stuck themselves into his wings when he landed in the meadow outside his house. He's smiling and his green eyes are alit with laughter, and he's just  _ so beautiful _ .

And she kisses him.

The look on his face when she pulled back made her feel hollow. 

But then he's pulling her in and lips as soft as flower petals are on hers.

Elf. Human. Suddenly, none of it mattered anymore as all that mattered in that moment were the two of them together in that house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Edan sings is called, "Noble Maiden Fair" :)


	4. Their Union and Bond

Edan wrote his brother in the morning, unsure of what to do, twisting his fingers together. Whether he agreed with Edan’s actions, or the idea of the result of said actions, he knew Agnarr would help him regardless.

Agnarr had been away to learn the Sky primal and become a better Sky mage. Edan’s passion was the arts. Agnarr’s was magic and battle. He would have never tore himself away from his studies under normal circumstances, even if he told his brother to write him daily. Edan didn’t expect him for at least a day or two when he sent the message. Not the very next day.

Agnarr arrived by morning, looking like he’d taken flight the moment he read it, still in his pajamas and hair a mess. As Edan approached him, the expression on his face almost made him retreat until Agnarr gripped him by the ear before he could without a word and yanked him inside the house, shutting and locking the door behind him.

“What were you  _ thinking _ , you  _ knucklehead _ !?” he shrieked the moment the door closed, still having yet to relinquish his hold on Edan’s ear. “Is there an actual brain up there or is this just for decoration?” He jabbed at the side of Edan’s head in a not so gentle way.

Edan thought he had seen Agnarr angry the time he broke his arm where he had scolded til Edan's ears rang, but this...this was much worse.

“Do I need to put a leash on you since you can’t seem to keep yourself from taking in every freaking stray you see on the streets?! And a human of all creatures! Have you gone insane!?”

“Okay, you’re gonna wake the rest of the neighbors--” Edan cut off with a yelp as Agnarr gave a hard tug at the sound of his voice.

“Don’t interrupt, I’m not done yet. Honestly, of all the irresponsible,  _ stupid _ things you have done in the past, this is by  _ far _ the absolute _ worse _ . If I didn’t want my possible niece or nephew growing up without a father, I’d kill you myself!” He continued his rant for approximately the next ten minutes, giving an unnecessarily hard tug on his ear whenever Edan tried to cut him off. 

Against her better judgement, at hearing the ruckus, Sarai tentatively walked into the living room, staying within the door frame. In the past month her leg had finally healed and albeit stiff and still a bit weak, she no longer needed crutches. Her run, however, was more a stumble as she had to take care not to fall.

Edan told her his brother would be arriving, told her that even if he didn’t understand, he would help them. And she wasn’t completely alarmed by the sight of him yelling at Edan at the top of his lungs (in all honesty, had their positions been reversed, her reaction with Amaya would have been the same, although instead of shouts, it would be furious signing in her face and occasionally forcing her to look at her when Amaya tried to turn away so as not to see them), but she wanted to see him at the very least.

At first glance between them, it was hard to tell they were brothers. Rather than the pale bluish-gray skin Edan had, Agnarr’s was a purely dark, almost black, gray with stark white markings in straight lines slanting across his cheeks and down his bare arms. Spiked and feathery white hair stood up all over his head with strands and tints of light blue. When his eyes turned to Sarai standing in the doorway, they were a stark, unusual shade of teal.

“Oh, so you’re the human,” he said conversationally as if this were a simple meeting in the moods. Still having yet to release Edan’s ear, he even gave a small smile. “If my brother trusts you enough, you must be one of the better ones. I truly am sorry for the trouble this must be causing you.” Then it quickly faded to a look of viciousness as he turned back to his brother and practically yanked Edan’s head in her direction with the force Agnarr pulled at his ear. “You think I got your letter this morning, no, I had to wait  _ until _ morning because I knew if I went then, I would have gone for your neck instead of your ear!”

“I’m fine, he didn’t do anything wrong,” Sarai insisted firmly, stepping between the two.

Agnarr’s gaze softened and he let go of Edan who immediately began to massage his ear, wincing. “Maybe not to you, and maybe not to me. To live or to die isn’t a crime,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But to the Council,  _ this _ \--” he pointed to Sarai even though she knew he didn’t mean  _ her _ \-- “is.”

Her expression faltered as she laid a hand on her stomach. A human in Xadia was a crime, but at the most, she would be imprisoned or tossed out, if they were sympathetic to her condition. 

A Half-elf’s crime, however, would be  _ life _ , and it’s punishment, as well as often the punishment for its creators:  _ Death _ . 

Edan reached out for her hand. They both knew what they had was wrong in the eyes of others. And now things had spiraled out of their control.

Sarai was pregnant.

* * *

Agnarr presented their options with bluntness. Sugarcoating problems never got anyone anywhere.

The first he presented was to get rid of the creature Sarai carried. This, however, was met with protests by both parents. Pity, they had grown attached to it, Agnarr thought, shaking his head. So he presented the next one, which was to get Sarai out of Xadia soon as possible, preferably before the halfling was born. 

Though Edan seemed sad to say so, he agreed. Sarai, on the other hand, insisted on at least staying long enough for Edan to see his child at least  _ once _ if there was a strong possibility that when she was on the other side of the Border, she'd never see him again.

As much as he hated to admit it, and in the coming months until his nephew's birth, that was the beginning of which he'd come to respect her resilience and stubbornness. And why when years later, after the news came of Queen Sarai's death, Agnarr was the only one in Xadia who set a small alter and prayed to the ancients that she had safe passage to the afterlife.

* * *

“Is something wrong with you?”

Edan whirled around with a book clutched to his chest, eyes wide. His wings twitched curled in his back as he fought the instinctive urge to take flight when his heartbeat accelerated so sudden. He forced a smile as he faced Runaan, but kept his eyes fixed on something over his shoulder. They had known each other in Silvergrove long enough in childhood that he could tell his lies with a glance. “Wrong? Wrong? No, no, why--why would you say that?” he asked.

“You’re jumpy. Over the past year, almost no one sees you outside your house except to buy fruit or--” Runaan plucked the book clean from within his arms before holding it up-- “to the library for research. Lorcan’s having visions again, and according to her, one of them involve  _ you _ in particular.” Runaan glanced at the bold lettering on the cover. “Are you looking into healing?” he asked, raising a silver brow.

Edan didn’t want to lie to one of his oldest friends, even if as they’d shed the remains of childhood, destiny had put them upon different paths. Runaan had grown to be initiated into the assassins just two years ago after taking his first official mission at eighteen, and Edan...well, Edan did what he did, just another face in the crowd who performed and created beautiful art, and tried to enjoy life than take it. 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it,” Edan laughed nervously, backing away. This was the first time he had seen Runaan in two months, and judging by how his bowblade was still at his back, he had just come back from a mission. Distantly, he wondered if there was still blood on those blades, and his wings twitched again as he thought of Sarai.

Truth be told, since he found out Sarai was pregnant, even with Agnarr’s help these days as he kept her healthy, using spells and remedies to assist her pregnancy, Edan was still ridden with anxiety. Despite knowing she would have to leave soon after their son or daughter was born, Edan had spent the last couple of months fussing over her to the point Agnarr would mimic gagging at “the stench of love.” It had yet to deter Eden from buying, creating and delivering comforts for her: baubles from the market, blankets infused with warming spells, borrowing books on elven childcare, one of which Runaan was currently holding. 

“Medical care is too organized, and, to quote,  _ boring _ as I remember you calling it,” Runaan said. “And why children?”

“They’re...cute,” stammered Edan, taking the book back as he walked up to the reception desk to check it out. “Shouldn’t you be getting back to Lain and Tiadrin? I heard your niece was born last month while you were out; Rayla is a real beauty, you know, shouldn’t you be going to see her?”

“I already checked in on them.” Runaan could tell he was trying to deflect, of course he would, he had seen and learn interrogation tactics his entire childhood. Folding his arms, he stepped in front of Edan, a frown marking his features. “I can still tell when you’re hiding something. If you’re in trouble, you can tell me.”

“Listen, Runi,” Edan sighed, giving in, “I fell in love with a girl and I got a bit over my head. That’s all.” He didn’t need to say much more. To court another elf wasn’t a crime, but having a child out of wedlock was looked down on with more than a touch of disdain. He suspected the custom was same among humans, but it was still better than them knowing a child of his was a  _ halfblood _ . 

Already, he could remember growing up and hearing the whispers of what they called him, sometimes cruelly,  _ Imíaimos _ . “It’s really nothing.”

“No, I know that look.” Runaan’s eyes narrowed, but not unkindly, with more concern than anything. Though the friendship of their childhood was unsure whether or not to be more than a memory, he still cared for him. “You’re scared.”

_ Yes, of you. _

“I’m… just don’t worry about it, Runi.” Edan placed a cautious hand on Runaan’s shoulder. “I’ll be fine.” The lie slipped through his mouth with ease, having been said many many times before, growing up. When his mother’s flower sank below the surface of Silvergrove’s moonlit pond during a particularly dangerous mission, when his father fell defending students from a group of rogue elves, when there were peers who mocked him for his mixed-breed blood as he grew up, (no one dared do the same to Lorcan. They  _ feared _ her more than anything, being what she called herself, a Starfire elf) all those times he felt anything  _ but _ fine. And Runaan could see it, recognizing the lie from the times he’d learned to see through it.

But he also didn’t pushed as Edan moved forward to check the book out from the librarian.

He did, however, follow him later that night.

* * *

Though Agnarr insisted Edan not get attached to prevent the heartbreak from becoming worse when Sarai left, he could see the excitement on his brother’s face. He wanted them to be a family, even if it wasn’t possible, and Agnarr couldn’t bring himself to shatter the fantasy. Let them enjoy it while it lasted, he only told himself.

“What are you going to name him?” Agnarr asked suddenly as he flipped through the book Edan had recently brought him from the library. He leaned back in his chair, his feet crossed and up on the table.

Both turned to look up. “Him?” Sarai asked.

“I took a peek,” Agnarr shrugged without a hint of shame, not even bothering to look up. “Hey, at the very least with the headache you two have caused me, I deserve to know if I’m going to have a niece or nephew.”

Sarai groaned but then it became a chuckle as she shook her head. “Thank you.” He looked up at that. “You really didn’t have to do this.”

“It’s not for you, it’s for my brother.” Agnarr nodded his head toward Edan whose expression faltered. But then, his eyes softened as Agnarr returned to the pages. “But you’re not the worst human I’ve had the displeasure of knowing, and believe it or not, with Edan’s social skills, you’re my one shot at being an uncle.” Edan made an indignant noise to Sarai’s amusement. “So, you know, it would be pointless to leave you to dry now.”

A small smile pulled at the corner of her lips. Gently pulling Edan toward her, she whispered something in his ear. When he pulled away, he grinned and turned to his brother. “Hey, you want to name him?” That gained Agnarr’s attention as his head shot to them. 

“What?” His eyes were wide. “Really?”

“Like you said, for all the trouble we’ve caused you, you deserve that,” Sarai joked as he looked like an owl with his eyes widened and his hair somehow standing up even more in his astonishment. “And this is my way of saying  _ thank you _ .” She reached out and grasped his hand, giving a soft smile. “So you name him.”

This was the most open and vulnerable she’d seen him even in the months he helped care for her. Then, he blinked several times. “Callum,” he answered in a voice so quiet she had to strain to hear him. 

Edan paused and he bit his lip as he looked toward Sarai. “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Callum,” Sarai mumbled, liking the way the name sounded on her tongue.

“For our father,” Edan breathed. “A sweet name for our little dove.”

And it all seemed so right and good, and perfect as he leaned down to press a kiss to Sarai’s lips. Agnarr quickly wiped his eyes and put his walls up again, pretending to be annoyed at the show of affection.

Everything seemed alright. Even if they all knew it would fall apart soon enough.

That night, when Agnarr thought he caught a pair of eyes looking through the window, he looked upon Sarai’s sleeping form before kneeling in front of her. He whispered a spell to his unborn nephew to keep him safe regardless of whatever harm that might come to his brother and his love. “ _ Tutela Caelo.” _

Agnarr had lost enough family in his lifetime, and he knew if this got out, he would lose his brother as well. But heaven and earth would pay if he lost this little one as well before any hope for his future had yet to form.

* * *

Even in Xadia, there was much that could go terribly wrong during birth, especially without help. 

Both parents feared death would be inevitable for both mother and child, but Agnarr insisted he knew she was strong enough to pull through this. 

In the end, Sarai knew she had to bring life to her baby. She remembered the moment she told Edan she was with child, the utter joy they had felt at the prospect that their bond could create something as beautiful as life. The memory renewed, warmed and calmed her as Sarai steeled herself.

And, in the middle of the night where the lightning lit the dark sky and a storm ravaged the heavens, Sarai brought Callum into the world. 

All her dread and unease and pain that ran through her body faded to the back of her mind when she held his little body to her chest, her heart. Rain and wind howled their fury, drowning out the babe’s wailing.

Agnarr was silent and operated quick to the cut the cord and wipe him of the blood. The storm covered the noise but he prayed the child would quiet down before someone noticed. Assisting to bring a bastard into the word was bad enough in their culture’s eyes, but a half-blood meant possible death.

Agnarr knew the risk he was taking the moment he decided to answer his brother’s letter, though, and so proceeded with the efficiency of an assassin in the opposite endeavor, of bringing a life into the world instead of ending it.

When Callum had been cleaned and wrapped in a soft blanket, despite all his previous objections, all his scoffs and sneers, Agnarr melted at the sight of his newborn nephew, a soft smile forcing its way against his will. 

“Pleasure to meet you,  _ mac-peathar beag _ ,” he whispered.

He placed Callum into his mother’s arms, and there was so much joy in Edan’s eyes as tears ran down his face. Sarai brought the babe’s wrinkled forehead to her lips with a kiss holding all her love. The tears came without warning and manifested all of her desperation and affection for this tiny one.

“He’s so beautiful,” Edan wept from beside her, his words catching in his throat.

Sarai looked up at the man she loved, who sat at her bedside all aglow. He inched closer and she adjusted so that he might look upon his son with ease.

Callum, to Agnarr’s relief, appeared mostly human. “With any luck, he’s not a late bloomer for horn budding,” he mumbled. Callum took after Sarai, but he could also tell the child was truly Edan’s son. He had his father’s chin and nose, and when Callum winced, Agnarr caught a flash of green. “He’s got your eyes.”

Edan laughed at the image. And suddenly, nothing mattered as he breathed in the sight of his son and felt his life emanate. Thank the moon above that there was very little obvious signs of his father save for his eyes. A healthy pink tone beneath his skin had him letting out a sigh of relief. “Callum, our little dove,” he breathed, reaching out to touch his cheek. Though he hadn’t Lorcan’s ability to foresee the future, he felt the child’s destiny in his bones.

Nearly about to burst with all the affection bubbling within her, Sarai placed Callum into his father’s arms. He stumbled at first, but then he calmed and smiled so wide as the tears trailed down his cheeks. All he felt was joy and love.

Nothing mattered. Everything was perfect.

“Thank you,” Sarai muttered to Agnarr. The Skywing merely nodded and looked away as if were nothing. But Sarai knew what he had risked just by associating with them, so she wept, “Thank you,” again and again.

However, Agnarr was a realist and therefore, he was kept from joining in on the celebration. Their happiness would be short-lived, and she would have to leave by morning. Still, he allowed himself one small smile from the doorway as he watched them in their fantasy of being a family even if for one night.

Then, he noticed something that made him frown. Callum’s ears tapered to a point.

But he waited. Waited as Edan sang a Moonshadow lullaby their mother sang to them while he rocked Callum to sleep in his crystalline voice.  _ A Mhaighdean Bhàn Uasal,  _ he remembered fondly as he would listen to his Moonshadow stepmother sing it as she would tuck them both in. Still, he waited. Waited until exhaustion set in and both parents fell asleep.

Once they were out, Agnarr gently took Callum out of Edan’s arms, gave him a small dose to make him sleep, and sterilized a pair of scissors with the heat of the fireplace’s flames before taking them to those ears that gave away his halfling blood. His nephew was going to live. 

In the years to come, if anyone saw scars on the tips of Callum’s round ears, Sarai would have no idea what happened but would insist that it was only a birthmark. It was a secret Agnarr would take to his grave until his lost little nephew found him years later. When he was no longer so little.

* * *

Come sunrise, despite the little time they had left to get out Sarai without anyone noticing (thank the stars above it was the night after a new moon; all Moonshadow were tired and groggy around that time of the month), Agnarr allowed the two lovers their goodbye before he would escort Sarai out of Xadia.

She had Callum strapped to her back after Edan had planted a kiss on his forehead, embedding his little face into his memory. She had begun to back away, but then the tears came and she lunged forward to hug him, holding on tightly through her sobs. He had been her friend, first and foremost, the friend who made her laugh when she felt like giving up and reminded her of all the good in life, the friend who had every reason to leave her to die, but didn't. 

Neither of them let go of each other for a long time.

"Please." Agnarr's voice came behind them as they broke apart. As Edan turned his head to his brother, he shook his head. "Don't make this more difficult for yourselves."

After a moment, Edan nodded. He brushed a stand of hair out of Sarai's eyes, forcing a sad smile even while tears flowed freely from his eyes. Then he took her hands in his and kissed them gently. "Stay alive. Just remember that I love you, and make sure he knows that, too," he said, his voice breaking.

"I will."

"I love you."

He kissed her one last time, trying to force all the love and emotion he felt for her into that one moment. 

"I love you," she whispered to him, gazing into those beautiful green eyes for as long as she could.

And then she never saw him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I might include Agnarr in my other fic, Lunar Lullaby, and have Callum meet him because...like I haven't even known these guys too long but already I kinda want to extend on them at least a bit. 
> 
> Anyway, feedback is greatly appreciated! :) Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!


	5. What's Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But despite their best efforts, no one could break free of the cycle.
> 
> So the cycle broke them instead.

Someone had told. 

Edan knew that fact when he heard his name circling in whispers during a flight. Staying hidden within the branches of the tree, he listened to his name muttered with disdain, and he knew it was a matter of time before they’d come for him.

And if he was brought before the council, they would make him tell them where Sarai and their son was, where they had run, who else had helped him. It was best to accept whatever punishment they planned for him. What good would it have done anyhow to fight? With faith in his brother, he had to hope Sarai was in good hands.

Grabbing a piece of parchment and a jar of ink, Edan wrote down his last letter, hoping that even if Callum never knew his face or his name, he would know how much he loved him.

* * *

Sarai would never forget the looks she caught her way when she returned to the Breach from the grave of Xadian battlefields. Each and every one of the soldiers appeared as if she were a ghost, and perhaps to their minds, she was. After all, she had been gone for quite a while. 

Spectrums of emotions crossed their faces. Surprise she was still alive, judgement once they noticed the child strapped to her back, concern for her wellbeing, pitying eyes and strained expressions. 

Then came through the gathering crowd a familiar face that almost made Sarai leap off her horse. A face that had already seemed to grow much older over what had almost been two years. 

As someone helped her and Callum down from the horse, Amaya’s eyes widened at the sight of her.  _ Found you _ , Sarai signed.

Amaya needed no more prompting before running to her, wrapping her tight in her embrace. Sarai laughed, tears of relief and happiness escaping her eyes. All that time ago, when she had thought she’d never see her baby sister again made her tighten her hold on Amaya.

Neither of them let go of each other for a long time, and when Amaya finally did let her go, wiping what was most definitely  _ not _ tears from her eyes, no her little sister was too tough to admit that, her eyes widened once more at the sight of the baby asleep on her shoulder blades.

A mixture of emotions flashed across Amaya’s face as she glanced from Sarai to the child and back. Her fingers were quick to demand an explanation as she signed,  _ Who is that? _

_ Your nephew. _

Again, Amaya’s expression faltered. Then, she signed,  _ You’ve got a lot of explaining to do _ .

And she would, but she wasn’t sure how her sister would react to the truth, so she colored in some of the blanks with partial lies of her time in Xadia. Remembering Agnarr’s words of a half-human’s child punishment for life was usually death, even telling someone as close to her sister made a pang of fear strike her heart. As far as most anyone knew, Callum’s father was a human who had taken her in when she needed it and nursed her back to health but had to leave due to matters of family. 

She didn’t go into specifics. She didn’t talk about warm green eyes that lit with laughter or beautiful, iridescent wings or a lovely singing voice to enchant even the coldest heart. No, she spoke of Edan as a good man she happened to fall in love with who loved the arts and had talent to rival some of the best painters she knew.

But at night, she would whisper stories of Edan to Callum as she’d rock him to sleep, telling truths he would never remember.

And she hoped wherever he was, he was fine. Then a letter arrived by an arrow outside her window. She removed the parchment attached, and then noticed Edan’s signature at the bottom. She opened the letter, eyes scanning his rushed, urgent handwriting, her heart dropping into the pit of her stomach with each word she read. 

As the parchment fell from her fingers, so did Sarai’s heart, eclipsed by agony so all-encompassing that it almost couldn’t be real.  _ “ _ He’s gone,” she whispered, memories of him springing forth before her eyes.  _ He’s gone. _

Sarai curled into herself and wept.

She would never know that they had taken a blade to his wings as punishment for his crime. She would never know throughout the years he suffered, he thought of her always.

But as she watched Callum grow, she would mourn silently, knowing Edan would have given the world to be by her side at that moment.

* * *

He loved her with all of his heart; and she loved him.

* * *

All around him were walls of solid-carved stone. Beyond the bars, there was only darkness. Thunder boomed so loudly that Edan could hear it even within the deep bowels of the dungeons where no light entered. Water trickled down the far wall of his cell. If the storm kept up much long, he would find himself kneeling in a cold puddle of rainwater. 

Not like his discomfort mattered. Not like the storm mattered. Nothing mattered.

What did he have left to lose?

Footsteps leading to his cell. 

Edan’s heart rate rose, but he didn’t move except to look up from where his head hung as he knelt on the floor. His hair had grown long and disheveled, the pearl white of his hair dirty with grime and filth. Over the years, his skin had become covered in layers of dirt to where it now seemed several tones darker than it truly was. 

Perhaps he should have remained chained in some way. So that he would not attempt to fly away or use his wings to fight back. But they needn’t worry about that anymore.

Thanks to them, Edan would never fly again. 

Two small, hard lumps replaced the wings on his back, ugly to look at and aching at his back whenever he moved them, plaguing him with pain while he slept and at random while awake. They jutted out his shoulder blades where scarred white skin stretched thinly over bone. Jagged marks traveled down the hard lumps and area surrounding the wound, marring the smooth skin of his back.

It had been years. Years since he had last seen Sarai and years since he had seen his son. But he still remembered her face. As his sanity began to slip through his grasp, he remembered her face, Callum in her arms, and Edan would sing softly the lullaby he sang Callum to sleep that one night. And he was fine.

Taking a shaky breath, Edan looked up and saw a familiar face gaze at him through the door’s bars. 

He tensed. 

A set of blue eyes locked with his green ones. Edan had grown used to the judgement and accusations thrown his way. None of the guards cared whether he lived or died after he was imprisoned, sometimes spilling or forgetting to bring his food. Bouts of illness came and went with the horrendous conditions of his cell. Still, he survived.

Because he had to.

Slowly, Edan went silent as his song came to a halt. Then he smiled. "Hi, Runi."

Runaan's lips twisted in a grimace. Still, Edan pushed on, pretending they were merely childhood friends seeing each other after eternity apart. "How are Lain and Tiadrin? Has Rayla started training yet?" 

After a moment of silence, he played along. "They got accepted to the Dragon Guard, Rayla is coming to stay with me while they're gone."

Edan's smile grew broader. "That's good for them, that's what they've always wanted," he said, even though a pang of jealousy struck his heart. They were a family, yet they willingly separated themselves from their child for  _ duty _ . At the thought, he remembered the words he spat the last time Runaan visited a year ago. “You and Ethari seem to be doing well and Rayla already loves you both very much. Do you have any pictures? Drawings?”

Runaan gave a long drawn out sigh as if tiring of this illusion he allowed his old friend to feign ignorance they both didn’t know what he was truly here for. But then his eyes softened and he reached for the pouch at his belt, taking out a small, folded piece of paper and holding it out through the bars. Edan took it and opened it, laughing at the sight before him.

A crude, childish drawing of two elves wearing mock versions of the dragon guard uniforms, and he recognized the familiar braid Lain often had hanging from his hair even if the rest of his hair was cropped short. Beside them was a smaller stick drawing of an elf who he assumed was little Rayla, and on her other side was Runaan (he could tell from the exaggerated length of hair) and his husband judging from the bands on the horns, bands he could also see in the dim light of Runaan’s horns when Edan looked up at him.

“Sorry I missed the wedding,” he chuckled, swallowing back the tears. Then he showed him the drawing. “Very flattering of you, by the way.”

The Moonshadow allowed himself a twitch of the lips in what was almost a smile. Then, he gave a heavy sigh. “ _E_ _ dan _ .”

Edan’s shoulders automatically tensed and he hissed at the pain there that came with the motion. “I told you once and I told you a million times, I’m not telling you where he is.” His voice came out resigned, emotionless. Even if he did speak, what would he have out there? No one was ever going to trust him again, wherever he went, he would be looked at with disdain, worse than dirt. And it wasn’t like he could ever fly away from it like he had once before.

To quote a popular Moonshadow saying,  _ He was already dead. _

“Then I can’t help you,” said Runaan, and he almost sounded pained. “You’ve broken our laws. You kept a human as a pet--”

“SHE WAS NOT A PET!” Edan’s voice echoed through the halls, loud enough to hurt his own ears. He took several deep breaths to calm himself, clenching a fist before forcing the words through gritted teeth. “And don’t you dare patronize me.”

He didn’t even blink. “That doesn’t change the fact you broke our laws. Just tell them she manipulated you, that it was all a mistake.” Sparing a glance toward him, Edan caught Runaan’s head bowed, refusing to meet his eyes. “She was a human who used your own loneliness for her own ends.”

The first time he said this, Edan had wept, desperate to believe it was not true. But now all he did was laugh. It started quiet but grew until it echoed all around. A hysterical, crazed laugh as if Runaan had told a quite funny joke. 

The Moonshadow elf winced. His laughter told of cracks fracturing the stability of his mind from his time locked away, cracks that would likely never heal even if he was let out someday. 

“You can never believe anything that goes against what you’re taught, can you?” Edan asked, laughter still in his tone, a grin stretched across his lips. “Because then what do you have to hide behind to give yourself an excuse for your own actions?” At Runaan’s guarded look, Edan went on. “Oh, come on, you think you can hide it from me? I’m the one who who had to give you tea to keep your lunch down after you made your first kill. I’m the one who you used to talk to about all your nightmares. I’m the one who you used to tell all your little fears when we were children. You think that just because we grew apart, I ever forgot that?” His voice turned to a snarl as he stood on shaky legs, using the wall for support, still unused to the lack of weight on his back. “You’re the type who doesn’t think in right or wrong but honor and duty. Who would turn his back on his own family if their beliefs and ideals suddenly went against your own.”

Frozen, Runaan’s past and presence collided and shattered, Eden having seen far too much of his soul and now placing that knowledge of display. Secrets he barely understood about himself and had no intention of learning. He forced himself to turn away from those piercing green eyes. “I told you it wasn’t me. I hadn’t the faintest idea you had spawned a half-breed until I saw you in chains.”

“And give me one good reason to believe you.”

Silence. Instead, he said, “You were never as strong as the others; it wouldn’t have taken long for a human to notice and take advantage of your kindness.”

A scoff left Edan’s lips. “And that’s why I’m still alive? They think I was put under some spell?”

“It’s not something I would put past their kind.”

“Wouldn’t a child of both our lands not bode well for peace?” Edan demanded in exasperation.

"It's not _ natural _ !” Runaan snapped. “Your naivety is going to ruin lives. Starting with your own. And already you've done a good job of that."

“How  _ dare  _ you.” Edan’s eyes flared with pain and hurt. “All that’s happened, and you have the nerve to come here during my lowest hour to tell me to my face that I  _ deserved this _ . You stand there and tell me that not having the heart to kill a defenseless woman was wrong, that falling in love with her was wrong. That our son was wrong. That following my heart instead of your prejudices was wrong. That having hope for a future where we are united and have peace is wrong. Well, if nothing changes, we will all perish in the end with the force of our own hatred! So don’t you  _ dare  _ stand there and judge me! If you hate me so much, then  _ just say it! _ ” 

For a moment, Edan thought he saw the carefully placed mask Runaan had placed over his true feelings splinter. Then his shoulders slumped forward and he bowed his head. “I don’t hate you,” he said so quietly Edan almost missed. “I could never hate you.” 

Edan didn’t answer, his gaze searing. There was no sympathy left in his already shredded and broken heart. Not since he had all he’d known taken from him. Not since everyone but his brother turned his back on him after discovering his crime, people who he’d known his whole life looking at his with disgust.

Not since he heard the news that morning, circling among the guards, some with mockery or with scorn. 

Sarai was gone.  _ Dead _ .

Struck down by Thunder after entering Xadia to retrieve the heart of a Magma Titan. Why she would do it, he only knew that they came with the King's orders, her _ husband's _ orders. Whatever dark magic they sought the heart out for, it cost Sarai her life. But if what he heard was correct, King Harrow was also raising his son along with his own.  _ Prince  _ Callum, son of  _ Queen _ Sarai. He smiled ruefully. 

“I just want my son raised someplace safe. That's not going to change." 

“And he will never be safe if people know his father is a traitor!” When Edan opened his mouth, Runaan continued before he could. “Admit you were deceived, and no one would blame you. The _ thing _ is no longer here anyhow."

"No one would blame me." Even at the thought, Edan scoffed. "Once accused, always suspected. No matter what truth is told, the rumors will paint me as treasonous. All things considered, I'm just glad I was allowed to keep my head attached to my neck." 

"And you think you cares, wherever she may be?" demanded Runaan with narrowed eyes. "You think she gave one thought about you after she ran? To her, you were just a means to an end to help her escape Xadia alive. If it looks anything other than human, the child will die by someone's hand eventually if not ours." 

Edan looked down, felt the ache in his shoulder blades as he moved. "We all do many things to survive and to protect others," he choked out as he squeezed his eyes shut. "They had a chance. That’s all I asked for. I've made my choice. Not even you can make me change it."

“I don’t suppose I can ask you to trust me anymore — and I wouldn’t blame you. But listen when I say you are making the wrong one.” 

Edan stared into the Moonshadow’s face for a long moment, both in two completely opposite worlds on each side of the bars. On Runaan’s, a world where he trusted his unique childhood friend. Where they could run off and play in the moonlit meadow and forests for a lifetime, where they never grew up nor ever apart. And on Edan’s, a world where he knew one thing elves were about had been right all along.

No one could be trusted.

Edan looked to the stone wall where there wasn’t even a window for him to see the moonlight or feel the wind on his face. “We were the lost boys once. Lost together. Sky and Shadow. You and I are still wandering, aren’t we? Two lost boys who never found their way home, except I no longer have the moonlight to guide me . ” His voice was quiet. “I still don’t regret any of the choices I’ve made, because they made me happy, even if it was only for a while.” He turned back to Runaan, tears in his eyes as he smiled. “And if it made me happy, it wasn’t quite a waste, was it?”

Runaan left soon after that. But he came back the next year on the same day. And the next. No matter the mission or event, he came on that day and often didn’t leave until nightfall. Sometimes he brought things to keep Edan company in the darkness of his imprisonment. Sneaking them through the bars since with his silence, no one bothered checking on him more than to bring his daily food and water.

Small drawings, once or twice, a handful of fruit the two shared sitting across from each other on either side. Once a small pad of paper and a bit of charcoal to draw with. Sometimes Runaan would come to find Edan practicing steps of a dance in the darkness of his cell or singing in their native tongue. Always the same Moonshadow lullaby. _A Mhaighdean Bhàn Uasal._

Eventually, Runaan stopped asking. Eventually, he stopped begging Edan to change his mind. Eventually, his visits consisted of them playing with the illusion everything was fine. Of pretending they were still friends and nothing had ever come between them. Eventually, Runaan's face stopped showing its judgement when Edan countered his stories of Ethari with his own of Sarai even if he never told her name.

The light had long since faded from his eyes with hopelessness and the resignation of his own fate. But they sparked again when he talked of the human woman who stole his heart and ruined him in the process. When he talked of seeing his son for the first time and asked about his niece since Rayla was so close to his age, wondering if his son had taken the same milestones yet. Even if they'd always sadden when he thought of having the opportunity to see them all for himself was taken from him.

Yet Runaan knew as the years passed, even if Edan eventually just talked of their childhood and memories of the outside with such fondness as if nothing ever happened to drive them apart and they could go back to that someday. He knew whether Edan believed him or not, he would never truly have the privilege of his trust again, nor would he ever be forgiven.

And seeing the ugly white scars on his back that replaced what had once been beautiful black wings, Runaan knew he deserved that.

* * *

The lands of Xadia and the human kingdoms were trapped in an endless cycle of hatred, vengeance, and violence. Callum's parents were among those who tried to end it. 

But despite their best efforts, no one could break free of the cycle.

So the cycle broke them instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe I might make some additional chapter for any art I might have drawn for this fic. Anyway, feedback is greatly appreciated, and I hope you're all having a lovely day!


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harrow finds out about Callum's halfling blood, and he and another make the ultimate decision to keep it away from Callum's knowledge at all costs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I ended up making another chapter for this, just to essentially wrap things up. Next might just be some sketches and drawings.
> 
> Plus, I'm sorry, but the image of Agnarr and Harrow ending up essentially co-parenting without even realizing it until they're acting almost like a married couple is hilarious to me :)

A few months after Harrow had found the letter, (ultimately, he decided not to show it to Viren. He may have been Harrow’s friend, but Sarai had never trusted him, and if she kept this secret so close to her chest for this long, he wouldn’t dishonor her memory by letting it slip out) Harrow peeked into Callum’s room to check if he was asleep. Since his mother’s death, he had started spending most if not all his time in his room, and had been plagued with nightmares.

Except tonight, Harrow caught someone standing before Callum’s bed, the window open to let in a gentle breeze. The figure’s attention was focused solely on the boy sleeping there.

It was an elf, even Harrow could see that with their hood pulled down. A very tall elf with wings and feathers along his arms, grey and white that with a few soft-spoken words, faded back into dark gray, almost black, skin. Half of light hair holding tints of pale blue fell to his waist over one shoulder, the other half shaved close to his head, dark horns curled back from his head. He was slight, but confident in the square of his shoulders.

Harrow almost began shouting for guards until the elf looked up and he was taken back by the unusual, vivid shade of teal that seemed to glow in the darkness. The elf placed a finger to his lips in the universal sign for  _ hush _ . Then he caught his face. The resemblance he had to Callum was undeniable, though the boy held a stronger resemblance to his mother. He could see fragments of him in the shape of his eyes and the nose.

Then the elf leaned down, his face close to Callum’s, and Harrow tensed in alarm, but all he did was press a soft kiss on Callum’s brow. His mouth moved, muttering the words, “ _ Et tam dulcis somno somnia.” _

Then he straightened up to meet Harrow’s eyes, once again placing his finger at his lips as he looked over the man who his brother’s former lover had chosen, the man who had, in turn, treated his nephew with as much love and respect as if Callum was his own flesh and blood.

The Skywing pressed a hand to his chest, over the heart, like he was a member of Katolis greeting his king and not an elf flying in to see Callum was being taken care of, grateful to his nephew’s step-father.

Blinking in shock and eyes still wide, Harrow gave his own nod of respect. It would have been rude not to, otherwise.

Agnarr gave one last fleeting look to his nephew before placing something on top of Callum’s sketchbook resting on the nightstand beside his bed. His mouth moved, his voice too low for Harrow to catch his words. The tattoos along his arms began to glow as feathers bled into skin until his arms became grey wings speckled with white. 

Then turning back to the open window, he looked back at Harrow, a smirk curling his lips. And winked as if to say  _ No one will believe you. _

That was the last he saw before the elf took off into the night.

Quickly, Harrow moved forward to latch the window shut. He looked over Callum to see the child was unharmed before looking back out, wondering what the stranger’s appearance could mean. He’d be worried if the way he regarded Callum wasn’t almost tender.

Not for the first time, he considered the scars along the tips of Callum’s ears. Sarai had seemed confused by them too when someone first pointed them out. 

The only other person Sarai had trusted more than her sister had been Harrow, but all she ever told him about Callum’s father was his name, and small details, never anything specific. And when it came to what he looked like, all she had said was that he had his eyes.

Eyes uncertain, he gently touched where the elf had touched him. The eyes were different. Nothing like Callum’s. But there was no denying some similarities. Family, maybe….

Sarai never spoke of Callum’s father, only said she thought it was too dangerous.

Perhaps the hints had been in hope he would figure it out himself.

Harrow picked up what had been left for Callum and turned it over in his hand. Just a small music box, and inside, a small, folded piece of paper. He unfolded it to reveal a drawing of a man and a woman with a child in their arms. 

It didn’t take long to recognize the woman as Sarai and his heart panged with guilt and grief. But then there was the man beside her. Horns curled past his hair and though one wing was curled into his back, the other was wrapped around Sarai as he gazed at her with such love and admiration as could be portrayed in charcoal. And the child in their arms….

Harrow glanced down at Callum. Sarai had taken this secret to her grave. Human or not, Callum was still his son, nothing changed about that. He was still the one who watched Callum take his first steps and gave him his first sketchbook after seeing how he loved art. 

All that changed was that someone had apparently known that, and trusted him accordingly to keep it as well. 

Callum...couldn’t know. Not yet. He was still too young, and it was still too soon after Sarai. 

And it didn’t exactly help with Soren giving him nightmares by telling him stories of elves drinking  _ blood _ . Just because Harrow or Sarai never said anything about elves didn’t mean nobody else did.

Careful, he tucked the picture into his jacket before leaning down to kiss Callum’s forehead. 

“Dad?” Callum slurred out suddenly, and Harrow jerked. The boy blinked up at Harrow tiredly and Harrow simply smiled, resting a hand on his hair.

“Hey, kiddo, how’re you feeling?” Harrow murmured

“Tired.”

“Then get some sleep.” Harrow smoothed his hair. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Don’t go,” Callum yawned.

Harrow froze, then smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He wound up the music box, then set it back on the nightstand, listening to the soft and soothing tune emitting from it. Slowly, Callum relaxed back down, sleep claiming his once more, and Harrow followed suit.

* * *

In the morning, Harrow walked in to check on Callum during his lessons only to freeze when he caught sight of his new tutor. 

When the last one retired, the position had been empty for only a few minutes before he was told someone else had already stepped up to take the role. And of course, as both the king needing to examine all those who worked in his castle, and as a father who needed to make sure whoever worked with his children treated them well, Harrow had come to look into him.

Except the man before him looked very,  _ very _ similar to the elf he caught in Callum’s room last night. Slight, but confident in the square of his shoulders with tan skin. Dark hair was half shaved close to his head while the other half fell to his waist, framing a handsome face. He was nicely dressed, however, and a silver ring hung from one ear, a pale stone embedded in the metal glittering in the sunlight. 

In the elf’s defense, it was a good disguise. However, it was also clearly  _ him _ . The one thing that hadn’t changed color were the eyes, which remained an unusual shade of teal. In all honesty, that was what made it clear to begin with.

"King Harrow!" Callum cried excitedly, oblivious to the king’s surprise as he jumped to his side, tugging on his sleeves. "Mr. Agnarr's really nice. He says that he even knows how to do magic! Can he stay? Please, please,  _ please? _ "

Still staring, Harrow watched Agnarr put a finger to his lips curling into a smirk. In his human guise, the slight hints of family resemblance he held to Callum become much more obvious. The man may not be Callum’s father, but he most definitely had to share blood in some sense. Then in a leisurely tone, he said, “Your son is quite a bright boy. We do still need to work on his grammar, though… Prince Callum, would you mind showing the king what you drew instead of paying attention.”

For a moment, the young prince in question bashfully looked away as if he got caught taking an extra jelly tart before dinner. Then when he saw no scorn rather than amusement, he brightened at the idea and skipped off to grab the sketchbook extended to him before heading back to Harrow’s side, holding the pages open.

“Look!” Harrow stooped to look upon the image on the paper of himself, messily drawn with dreadlocks, beard, and all. 

“Is that me?” he asked, glancing between Callum’s delighted smile to the man cloaked in what could only be magic. “It looks just like me, in fact, dare I say it, I think you’ve made me even more handsome!”

Callum’s light laughter belled out in the somber air, easing the tension in the air somewhat. It was the first time Harrow had heard him laugh since Sarai’s death. Slowly, his eyes still glancing to the stranger, Harrow said, “Callum, why don’t you go check on Ezran and wait for me there.”

“Okay!” 

Once Callum’s footsteps disappeared down the door, Harrow stood and regarded the elf in disguise who was now sitting back in his chair, feet crossed up on the table. Then careful to make sure no one else was in earshot, he closed the door. “Agnarr….” He didn’t object to the suspicion in the king’s tone. “Isn’t that an Elven name?”

“Maybe so, but so’s Callum if you paid better attention,” was Agnarr’s only answer as he tossed up and down an apple he’d likely snatched from the kitchens. “I understand your mistrust in me. But if I may be frank, Your Majesty?”

“I’d prefer it.”

In one swift motion, Agnarr swiped his feet off the table and sat straight, his gaze piercing as he rested his chin on one arm. “I’m sure you figured it out by now your stepson’s non-human ancestry. The boy’s mother is gone, and I have no idea where my brother is, I think you can understand that after hearing of Sarai’s death-- my deepest condolences-- I was obligated to check on my nephew to make sure you nor anyone else in the castle was mistreating him.” 

Harrow wasn’t quite surprised to hear the relation to Callum but more at the thought he would ever think he’d treat Callum wrongly when Sarai’s memory was still fresh in his mind. His eyes blazed with indignation and he was about to say he would never when Agnarr raised a hand as if reading his mind. “I know you wouldn't treat him wrong.  _ Now, _ ” he said, eyes narrowing. “You have no idea the amount of spells I had to use to keep an eye on him to make sure of that. If I had any indication he  _ was _ being abused or mistreated in any way, I would have come to take him away long ago.” To Harrow’s surprise, Agnarr face shifted to give way to seem almost impressed. “Believe me when I say I’ve met my fair share of humans who would not have handled the situation as well as you have. It seems your wife was right to trust you with her children’s care… you’re a very lucky man.”

This time, it was Harrow who narrowed his eyes suddenly. “Wait, was this a test?”

Agnarr’s lips curled in amusement. “Yes...and no. You don’t honestly think when Sarai passed, I would feel comfortable having him left with a stranger until I knew what type of human he was? And no, because, well, considering the amount of trouble I went through for his parents, I think I deserve to at least be close by to watch him grow up. Besides, I’m still not sure if he’s a late bloomer or not.”

Harrow was positively gaping at him. “Late bloomer for what?”

“Well, you know Callum is not completely human now.” Agnarr pursed his lips. “And though I’ve been looking into the history of half-bloods, the blending of species has never been an exact science. Some can look mostly human than elf like your stepson, and some can look mostly elven. Some can have look mostly one or the other but have certain traits of either their human or elven lineage, such as the ears or hair, or sometimes, it can even mix and be uneven. Nine fingers instead of eight or ten, or one horn instead of two. It’s different for everyone.”

“How different?”

“You noticed I don’t naturally have wings,” Agnarr shrugged with a rueful smile. “My brother, Edan, however, did, even though he was a Skyshadow. Just with all mixed-breed, it’s never quite clear which more the child will take after more. Some thought he would take more after my stepmother, but he was born with a better connection to the sky, and he was still able to play Moonshadow tag during a full moon. And even with normal elves, some are born with smaller and duller horns right away, but other times, their horns don’t bud for at least a few months or years. Edan’s horns didn’t come in until he was a year old, and no one in that house got a good night’s sleep for at least a month.” He paused, uncertain. “Or was it two weeks? I don’t know; I was so sleep-deprived I couldn’t keep proper track of time.”

Even though he didn’t fully understand all the terms, Harrow got the gist of what he was saying. “Why?”

“Oh, it’s like your humans’ teething, but ten times worse. Have you ever had something literally trying to force its way out of your head, I mean besides the absolute worst headache of your life--”

“No, not that-- although that does sound painful,” Harrow said, shaking his head. “Why do you still think he might develop...inhuman traits? He’s six years old. Don’t you think he would have them by now?”

The elf shook his head and stood up, beginning to pace. “You can never be sure. With some half-breeds back home, you never know which primal source they’ll connect to until they’re properly exposed to it, and with Callum’s human blood, he may be slower to develop than others. Not to mention--” Face contorted into disgust, Agnarr pointed out to the tower where Viren’s chambers were-- “I certainly don’t know if the amount of Dark Magic he’s being exposed to will affect anything.”

Harrow’s eyes flicked over to where he pointed, and he remembered all the hatred his oldest friend harbored toward elves and how he pictured most of Xadia’s inhabitants as little more than ingredients. “There’s nothing I can do for him if what you say is true?”

Regarding him, Agnarr nodded. “There is. The most painless way would be a glamour, but with a dark mage, it wouldn’t take much to remove it.” He gave a sigh then pointed to his own ears, that though now disguised, Harrow knew held pointed tips beneath. “When he was just born, he had the ears. But it was easy to get rid of those with a pair of scissors.”

Harrow’s eyes widened at the implication and he tried not to think on it too long less he get sick. He remembered the scars. “You... _ clipped _ his ears.”

“What was I supposed to do?” Agnarr shrugged without a hint of shame. “You know as well as I do what might have happened to him if anyone suspected him to be anything less than human.”

As much as he hated to admit it, Harrow knew he was right. Already, Callum was looked down for being born a bastard child as well as being the stepson of the king. They thought he never noticed how much they reminded him how he was the king’s stepson, how they looked down on him because Callum held no claim to the throne yet was so close. How would they treat him if they knew the truth?

He had to protect him. Just as Sarai had.

“As you can see, you might need my help in that area,” Agnarr went on, half of his hair curtaining his face as he tilted his head. “Unless  _ you _ have the guts to snap off or shorn any horns that might grow? Or if he grows wings like his father?”

Harrow shuddered at the thought of doing any of what he was implying. How could he force Callum to shun and rid himself of what was a part of him without the boy having a say in any of it. Then he looked up into those piercing eyes. “And what exactly do you suggest I do?” he demanded. Normally, he could go to Viren with these problems, but if Sarai’s suspicions were correct, he was  _ not _ going to put Callum’s safety at risk. 

Agnarr held up a hand. “Allow me to handle it. I’ve been learning more spells since then. I’m more than just an apprentice mage now.” He tapped the earring hanging from his right ear, the stone embedded in the metal. “I got past your  _ mage _ , after all.” He spat the word with disdain. “And I do know something that might repress his magic before it can form.” Then his face softened and his hair curtained half his face again to guard the vulnerability showing. “All I ask in return is that you let me be near him. He doesn’t have to know anything. Just allow me to be there and watch him grow up.” His voice broke. “That’s all my brother ever wanted.”

Harrow noticed he never used the term ‘ _ father’  _ when mentioning Callum’s biological father. “What happened to him?” He had to ask.

“I don’t know.” Agnarr’s voice was quiet as he turned to the window. “I really don’t.” He turned back to Harrow, furiously wiping his eyes to hide any weakness, fury blazing in his eyes. “My brother made his choice when he let Sarai live. And he was punished for it. You would never have found anyone as trusting or as kind as Edan, and they punished him for it.” He sighed and looked down. “He was all I had, and we had our differences, but I loved him more than anything, and I have and would have chosen his happiness over mine without hesitation. Callum is the only family I have  _ left _ , half-human or not. I just want to be a part of his life, no matter how small.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Harrow reached forward and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving a sad smile. “It seems we both Callum’s best interests at heart. I don’t think I have the right to decide to keep you out of it.”

Agnarr didn’t return the smile, and he backed away from Harrow’s touch, but he did nod in gratitude. “You should know that I think you’re doing well looking after them. She would be proud.”

He could see how Harrow’s eyes shone at that, and despite flinching, he also didn’t stop him when he brought his arms up to hug the uncle of his stepson.

* * *

“What was my dad like?”

Agnarr shrugged as he corrected a small confusion between ‘y-o-u-r’ and ‘y-o-u-’-re.’ The child was six after all. He had and Harrow had come to the agreement that Agnarr didn’t have to be an absolute stranger just because Callum couldn’t know the whole truth. So came the crafted lie that he was merely a very good friend of Callum’s birth father. “I’m afraid I didn’t know the king in his youth. For that you’d have to ask Viren.”

Callum hesitated before looking down. “He says that Harrow’s not my dad. He’s just my stepdad.”

Fighting the urge to end the lesson to go punch a certain dark mage in the face, Agnarr lowered to Callum’s level and lifted his chin so he’d look him in the eye-- Edan’s eyes-- and said, “Harrow is the one who raises you, is he not?”

“Yes.”

“Does he love you?”

“I guess.”

“Then I’m sure he’s as much your father as the man who was the sperm donor.” As much as it pained him to say it, it was true. Harrow was the one who raised him, which meant he was more Callum’s father than Edan, even if he knew the knowledge might break him.

Callum hesitated again, looking away shyly in a way that reminded Agnarr painfully of his brother. 

Taking a deep breath so he wouldn’t end up storming off to find whoever placed such doubt into his nephew’s mind, Agnarr allowed himself a small smile. As if being young Ezran’s  _ half _ -brother and not his full-brother made him second-class to the Crown Prince. Suddenly, he flashed back to the taunts of that used to be thrown at his own younger half-brother for being only  _ half _ instead of whole, as if  _ that _ made any difference. The bullies would always run away whenever Agnarr made his presence known, but their words stuck into Edan’s mind. 

“Listen to me.” Callum looked at him. “Words are just that: Words.  _ You _ are the only one who can give them meaning, you understand me?” He nodded. “Nobody can make you feel inferior unless you give them that power.” At the sight of a small smile breaking across Callum’s face, Agnarr leaned back, closing the journal Callum had been writing in. “Why don’t we take an early break, okay?”

“Okay.” Callum grabbed his sketchbook and began to leave, but stopped before he reached the door, clutching the book to his chest. “Mr. Agnarr?”

“Hmm?”

“When I was asking, I meant my...my  _ other _ dad,” he said, looking down shyly.

_ Oh _ . Agnarr allowed himself a small smile. “Where would you like me to start?”

“How did he and my mom meet?”

He hesitated, wondering how much of the truth he should tell and which he should tell lies of. “Well...your mom and your  _ other _ dad’s meeting could’ve gone badly,” he decided to start. “She met him when she was hurt and in enemy territory. Any lesser man could have taken advantage of that. He didn’t. He treated your mom with respect, and I don’t think either of them expected you to come along.” 

“What happened?”

“I...don’t know. But if there’s one thing I do know, it's that your other dad loved you and your mom so much…”

Callum hugged his sketchbook tighter to his chest and he looked deep in thought. “Did...did he like to draw, too?”

Agnarr couldn’t help the laugh escaping his lips. “Oh, did he!” He hesitated before he gestured to the chair next to him. 

“Would you like to me to tell you more about him?”

* * *

Harrow couldn’t help the twinge of guilt every now and then of keeping the truth of Callum’s lineage from him. If he should ever find out….

When he’s older, he told himself. Except he told it to himself again. And again. Even as Callum grew older to a young man. It felt if he told him now, it would be years of lies and secrets, and he might even come to resent him for it.

_ When he’s a little older, _ Harrow told himself again even when he knew his time was coming to an end with the news of the assassins coming.

Maybe he would never have to know.

Except it felt even worse to keep something that was a part of him away without Callum even knowing what it was but sensing  _ something _ off about himself.

Harrow knew longer he kept it from him, the worse it would be when the lies all came out. 

But for Callum’s safety...he’d gladly deal with any backlash. 


End file.
